


Enjoy Your Worries, You May Never Have Them Again

by Chromat1cs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, Classroom Sex, Established Relationship, Hogwarts Era, M/M, Marauders' Era, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, christmas break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromat1cs/pseuds/Chromat1cs
Summary: “I still don’t trust you to begin a brew after you singed off James’ eyebrows when you forgot to start withwater.”“That wasone timeand I wassixteen.”“That waslast springand you werebarred from volatile substances for a month.”Remus mimics the pitch of Sirius’ toshy scoff with such virulent accuracy that Sirius almost drops to one knee and proposes.—Potions: love it or love to hate it, Sirius Black is a sap with an entire Christmas break to brush up on skills he needs to sharpen. If, along the way, he sweeps his favorite prefect ever further off his feet, he won’t complain about it.





	Enjoy Your Worries, You May Never Have Them Again

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Books, hello~ predictability~~~
> 
> The world needs more Amortentia brewing fics with different scents involved, so I took up that mantle because I love to procrastinate :DDD This is entirely too self-indulgent but I still hope you enjoy <3

 

It isn’t snowing but the air certainly smells like it, the window casement thrown open in the dormitory as Sirius runs twelve degrees hotter than the average teenage disaster. His NEWTs requirements for the end of next term are sprawled out in sheafs of parchment before him and beginning to blur together as he scans them, but he continues circling back to the potions test enumeration: _Two intermediate potions, one chosen by the adjudicator and one chosen by the student from the list below; One advanced potion, chosen by the student from the list below._ The list is short, restrictive, and marginally alphabetical. Sirius is awful at potions. He winds a habitual strand of hair in and around his thumb and index finger as he reads and re-reads the choices he has, and the neat Minervan handwriting burns _Amortentia_ into his mind’s eye just as Remus opens the door with perfect synchronicity.

“Man alive, Padfoot, why is it so cold in here?”

“Says the human hearthfire,” Sirius rebuffs as Remus exaggerates a shiver under two layers of jumpers and shuts the window solidly. “I’m studying.”

“Ah, you’re delirious with fever then.” Remus fixes him with an adoring smile under the bite of the insult, and Sirius rebuffs it with a childish sticking out of his tongue.

“Contrary to popular belief, I would like to be employable after graduating next term,” he says loftily. Remus leans over the edge of Sirius’ bed to smirk at him, beckoning with one finger near the corner of his own lips. Sirius screws up his face in mock misunderstanding. “I’m sorry, can I help you, messire?”

“I seem to be the only one who recognizes that Sirs Prongs and Wormtail have left for an early Christmas,” Remus murmurs. The last moon was a week ago and has stopped its stirring behind Remus’ irises, but Sirius’ breath still catches in his chest to see the pure mischief that replaces it when one looks at him in the right light. It’s never worn off, this marveling disbelief in Sirius’ heart. After the last four months of seeing one another with unabashed freedom, the admission of _I want to date you, proper and well,_ no longer sticking in Sirius’ throat like a burr after blurting it one afternoon taking a walk around the lake with Remus before autumn arrived in earnest, the intensity of Sirius’ affection hasn’t flagged an ounce. He doesn’t believe it will ever lessen as long as he lives.

But he can still be a fantastic shit about it.

“I dunno, Moony, are you more interesting than adjudication specifications?” Sirius hums as he gestures grandly with the parchment in his hand, still curling at its edges with a bit of wax crusted where his initials were pressed into the crimson seal. Remus gives him a look like turned butterbeer and raises a straw-colored eyebrow.

“Who’s the one always moaning about never having any time alone?”

“I don’t know what on _earth_ you’re talking about.”

“The common room is utterly empty, you know.”

“Exactly, it’s been so quiet! So conducive to learning, you should try it sometime.”

“I— _I_ should try it?” Remus’ inability to ignore even Sirius’ most blatant attempts at getting a rise out of him is just as entertaining the umpteenth time as it was the first, and Sirius cracks with mirth in a wide smile before he can drum up another prod at the other boy’s pride.

“Yes, you should always be wary of your marks.” Sirius relents and shoves the parchment to the side of his mattress in a soft textile crunch, curling his own come-hither finger at Remus to mimic the way he had opened their repartee. “You are a prefect, after all, didn’t you know that?”

Remus rolls his eyes and comes forward to kneel on the mattress across from Sirius, unknotting his own tie as he moves with a hooked pinkie finger that makes Sirius’ insides bloom. “Dear me, however could I forget,” he says flatly. He fixes Sirius with that mossy stare of his, all wit and sweetness and the brandy twinge of something wild at its pinpoint depths, and curves his mouth into the smile that says _Kiss me, you fantastic shit._

“That’s what I’m saying,” Sirius murmurs with mocking emphasis, unwinding the striped fabric from Remus’ neck with light fingers and slow purpose. “You have to _study.”_ The word takes on a wholly different meaning when Sirius presses gently at the seam of Remus’ lips with his thumb to earn the wet warmth of Remus’ tongue pulling it into his mouth to curl at the pad of his finger in indolent introduction.

“Could you spare a bit of a break then?” The question that both of them already know the answer to, spoken with Sirius’ spit-slick thumb resting on Remus’ bottom lip like a greyhound at the racing gate. The eagerness between them to explore one another’s bodies is always bright and searing, iron glowing from the fires of their shared gap in the mantle between boyhood and manhood, and Sirius has only ever wanted to stoke it hotter.

“For you?” Sirius says through half a skip of laughter when Remus begins tidily undoing the buttons of Sirius’ shirt. “I think I could fit that in.”

Remus snorts at the obvious innuendo neither of them needs to define in the open for it to be hilarious and eases Sirius back onto the mattress until he’s splayed out beneath Remus, caught in a kiss that tastes like arrival and the great glimmering unknown of discovery all at once. Parchment shifts beside Sirius’ head and he pushes it to the floor, still thinking vaguely about the shape of the word _Amor_ with Remus braced above him on bandy, gorgeous limbs. He thinks to himself, not for the first time, that he’s in love. Madly, with all the good and the bad that may come with it. _Come on then,_ he thinks into the aether of whatever controls reality, whatever warps existence into the bright and concentrated paradise of this moment as Remus places his right thigh Right There to make Sirius groan against his lips; _Took you long enough to let me sniff it out_.

—

They’re both spending Christmas at school for the first time since year one, back when Sirius had been uninvited from family celebrations for the scandal of his house sorting—as if being snubbed from stiff dress robes and bitter stews was even punishment to an angry, confused 11-year-old—and when Remus had been unable to take the train due to the virility of a fever that kept him under Pomfrey’s watch for five days that was, in retrospect, the cover-up of a particularly bad moon.

Back then the two of them had gotten nearly sick on biscuits Mrs. Potter had sent a week earlier that Sirius subsequently pilfered from under James’ bed and snuck into the hospital wing, a desperate flailing-out from Sirius for any dittany against the loneliness in the castle’s quiet hallways that threatened to drive him mad if he didn’t talk to _someone_ after the first solid day alone in the dormitory. It proceeded to start those first careful steps into an uncertain friendship between the iron-hearted pureblood boy and his strange, knob-kneed classmate, the one with the sad-looking eyes set in a face so sweet it drove those first sparks of Sirius’ adolescence mad with confounding possession.

Presently, recalling the flickering memory of accidentally making Remus laugh so hard he nearly coughed crumbs all over himself propped up against those overstuffed hospital pillows, Sirius blows slow smoke out in the direction of the cracked window beside his unmade bed and puts down the NEWTs specifications to pull slow fingers through Remus’ hair.

“Remember year one?”

Remus looks up from his book. They’d spent the day so far having a lie-in, shagging with waking ease more than once in their quiet room, and taking late lunch in the sparsely-filled Hall, rounding out now with Remus buried in a book while Sirius works his way through a spliff with the NEWTs specifications unattended in the hand he’s busied instead with Remus’ curls.

“What about it, you mean that Christmas?”

“Yeah, what was it I said in the hospital wing that made you laugh with a whole jelly biscuit crammed in your gob?”

Remus smiles with recollection while Sirius takes a slow drag on his weed, enjoying it’s fog in the comfort of the dormitory for the blessed absence of James’ whinging about the smell. “I believe you’d taken me unawares with an impersonation of Slughorn that was entirely too accurate.”

A bubble of fond laughter simmers up to Sirius’ surface before he furrows his eyebrows ridiculously and purses out his lips to match their toady professor as closely as his own slim features allow. “Well done, Mister Lupin,” he blats, throwing his voice into its lowest rocky pitch with a cartoonish Northern clipping of Slughorn’s accent, “have you ever thought of joining my salons?”

“Stop, my book’s just gotten good,” Remus protests through a reluctant chuckle.

“Your stirring patterns are impeccable,” Sirius continues, ignoring Remus’ half-hearted protest when he plucks the book away to splay it gently on the bed at their feet. “Wherever did you learn to handle a wand like that?” Remus looks at him with something stuck between disgust and absolute glee, and Sirius waggles his eyebrows as he takes another long drag on his spliff before offering it to Remus.

“You haven’t matured even an ounce in the last six years, do you know that?” Remus muses as he takes he offering and hits it delicately, the way Sirius loves to watch him do with his hand cupped upside-down around it. He blows the white smoke out the corner of his mouth and looks at Sirius expectantly.

“You express your affection very strangely, Mr. Lupin,” Sirius croaks again, still wearing Slughorn’s voice with the unhinged hilarity that mild highs always infect him with.

“You’re lucky you’re gorgeous, you bleeding idiot,” Remus mutters with his unique sort of crisp efficiency and plain ease that makes Sirius’ heart flex with lightness. In lieu of retrieving his book, Remus picks up the NEWTs outline beside Sirius and scans it briefly. “Speaking of Slughorn, how the hell are you going to pass your potions OWL with requirements like these?”

“Your confidence in me is _staggering,_ thank you, Remus.” Sirius abandons the impression to deadpan his exclamation at Remus, looking up at him over the edge of the parchment.

“What, it’s true! Lily is bound to be the only one among us who doesn’t crash and burn. Look at this list: Confusing Concoction, Draught of Peace, Pepperup, Amortentia—Jesus, who would willingly pick _that_ beast to brew?”

Sirius snorts and draws on the last of his roll, holding it in while he idly transfigures the ash end into nothing. “It’s not the worst of them,” he says through his exhale. “I was actually thinking of choosing that one for the advanced selection. I’ve the whole term to get it right, and I figure if I’m going to fail I might as well make the room smell nice for everyone.”

“You say that as though you won’t bungle it and make the room smell like death,” Remus fires back.

“You wound me, Lupin. And here I was going to ask you for help with practicing it tomorrow.”

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up his forehead in an expression that should hurt Sirius’ pride for the surprise of Sirius Black doing any sort of planning for academics, but it only makes Sirius look fondly at the way Remus’ left brow is bisected neatly with a thread of scarring. “You’re going to practice school work over Christmas break,” Remus says, stoney, as though Sirius had told him he was planning on cavorting into the ocean and living among the merpeople for the rest of his days.

“I’m not _entirely_ incapable of higher thought, you know,” Sirius drawls.

“Color me surprised, here I thought you only had the capacity to eat, sleep, and fuck.”

“And I’ve done all three of those today already. Leaves a lot of room for growth.” Sirius’ voice strains slightly as he stretches long through his torso, his arms up to nearly brush his fingertips along the top of his bed canopy, and he absorbs the way Remus looks appreciatively at the sliver of his stomach exposed by the hitching bottom hem of his jumper.

“Is that how that works?”

“I’m an expert on being Sirius Black the First, you know. Esquire-esquire-esquire.”

Remus splits with laughter, the sort that clearly takes him by surprise at the running joke of Sirius’ lineage that remains so stupid he knows he shouldn’t laugh but can’t help himself. His nose crinkles along its bridge and the one crooked incisor in his top row of teeth comes into view with it, and in this moment Sirius wants to give Remus Lupin the world.

“I’ll help you tomorrow if you want it,” Remus says in genial surrender. “If you accidentally blow something up I’d rather be there to pull you under a desk for cover instead of scrape your viscera off the walls after the fact.”

“Fucking hell, Moony, what are you reading lately? That’s disgusting,” Sirius sniffs with mock offense.

“The Captain’s Daughter.” Remus wears a righteous grin that Sirius suddenly wants to kiss into rubied splendor, and so Sirius tugs purposefully at the front of Remus’ hideously charming grey jumper.

“She sounds positively ghastly. Come here.”

—

All things considered, sneaking into the Potions supply closet is laughably easy. Sirius saunters across the high stone halls, their ancient gaps whistling faintly with the winter wind at the higher reaches that are normally covered by the bounding echoes of students going to and fro, with a bundle of measured ingredients spelled into his back jeans pocket—a vial of pearl dust, a pinch of powdered moonstone, a handful of rose thorns, a small sack of peppermint, and a clutch of Ashwinder eggs. The Map is tucked under his arm, awake and ready to vibrate subtly if anyone besides Remus decides to venture down the corridor in the next few hours, but it’s the twenty-third of December and even the heads of house are less than concerned with the far branches of the castle.

Sirius toes open Slughorn’s classroom door only as wide as he needs to slip inside lest it creak mightily as it tends to do before he pushes it to behind him and locks it with a muttered “Alohamora,” the tip of his wand slid down in his sleeve. He turns to the empty classroom, thick with all its velour accents in green and purple and looking more like a flamboyant conservatory than a brewing space, and smiles conspiratorially to see Remus ready with a cauldron set on one of the desks at the far end of the room.

“Got antsy without me?” Sirius puts down the Map carefully before he shrugs off his outer robes, rucking up the sleeves of his jumper and emptying his charmed pocket onto the cleared desktop beside the cauldron. Remus doesn’t look up from the recipe he’s scanning in the massive tome to his left.

“I still don’t trust you to begin a brew after you singed off James’ eyebrows when you forgot to start with _water.”_

“That was _one time_ and I was _sixteen.”_

“That was _last spring_ and you were _barred from volatile substances for a month.”_ Remus mimics the pitch of Sirius’ toshy scoff with such virulent accuracy that Sirius almost drops to one knee and proposes. He says nothing but shakes off the tremor of affection after a moment, lining up each ingredient and triple-checking to make sure he won’t have to duck out to grab more of anything and miss a crucial brewing step.

“Ready then?” Sirius takes a step back, arms akimbo, and feels the tiny knot of anxiety between his lungs that rises up whenever he thinks about taking exams. He’s been able to skate by on raw luck and natural talent alone since he was a boy, but lately he’s gotten to dwelling on job prospects as he supposes any seventh year with half an ear for the future would. Sirius Black has always hated tests. Choosing the correct answer has never been the way he prefers to crash through life, unleashed and loping like the dog twined around his blood.

“Whenever you are, maestro.” Remus beams at him then, a subtle and honest smile without any other witticism peppered into it. It’s plain adoration at its finest and so Sirius surges in and kisses him squarely over the expanse of the cauldron. He indulges in it a bit longer than he would for their usual stolen snogs—in the hallways before parting for disparate schedules, sitting idle on the grounds between classes, in the stands during the last two Quidditch matches when Sirius was feeling particularly reckless and whizzed up on his broom to plant one on Remus and pause his patter of match commentary for a handful of dazzling seconds—Remus looks dreamily satisfied when Sirius pulls back after delving his tongue just barely between those plush lips of his; a promise more than anything else. Sirius is the luckiest sod this side of the Baltic.

They set to the brew then with careful hands and slow movements, reading and re-reading each step so as not to need, as Remus so _delicately_ rooted into Sirius’ overactive imagination, a giant spatula with which to scrape themselves off of the velveteen wall hangings.

After nearly an hour steadily filled by shearing nerves and a few snaps of bickering between the two of them about when to add an ingredient or how to stir the mixture, Sirius and Remus share a burst of exclamation when the first miraculous spiral curves of steam begin to winnow up from the cauldron.

“Fuck yes!” Sirius cries. He pumps an arm in the air as though he’d just sailed a perfect uninterrupted throw right across the pitch and through a goalpost instead of brewed an extremely delicate potion. “We did it?!”

“Well it technically has to steep for six days before it will work properly,” Remus reads from the page, tracing the text with a finger, “but yes, fuck yes, we did it!”

“Oh you bloody _treasure,_ I wish I could smuggle you into my exams, you’re brilliant.” Sirius presses a series of loud, patently obnoxious kisses to the planes of Remus’ face as Remus laughs, pawing harmlessly at him and scrunching up his shoulders in half-hearted resistance. Sirius’ heart thrums when he pulls back and sees that Remus has a splotch of the liquefied peppermint on his cheek, and he swipes at it with his middle finger and holds it in front of Remus’ sightline with a shit-eating grin. “A bit crap at keeping it all in order though, aren’t we?”

“Fuck off,” Remus says through a low laugh. He steadies Sirius’ hand with both of his and, holding extremely knowing eye contact with him, takes the finger into his mouth down to the third knuckle with very little ceremony at all. Sirius bites down hard on his lip as he feels Remus’ tongue sweep away the icy-cool presence of the peppermint and because it’s Remus Lupin and he’s the incessant combination of stubborn and tantalizing, he takes his sweet time making sure Sirius knows exactly which part of Sirius’ body the finger has brought to his mind with several strokes of his well-practiced mouth.

_“You_ fuck off,” Sirius says, useless, wind out of his sails and rushing instead to his trousers to make his voice hoarse and his knees weak.

“I told you first,” Remus says lightly. The sharpened light behind his eyes confirms he knows exactly what he’s doing; _Fuck,_ Sirius can feel himself beginning to get hard as Remus drags his dark red tongue along the length of that same finger, teasing at Sirius’ fingerprint as he would the head of Sirius’ cock the way he like best, unforgiving in the best way possible, holding Sirius’ gaze as the cauldron bubbles between them and Sirius smells roasted chestnuts and the forest after it rains—

“Smells!” Sirius blurts like a madman, stilling Remus’ ministrations for incongruity of the shout in the empty classroom.

“...Smells?”

“The potion, the smells! ‘Your heart’s desires’ and all that shit, do you smell anything?” Sirius takes his hand back with the briefest stab of resistance in his heart at the loss of contact and puts both hands on the edge of the cauldron, leaning in to breathe in deeply and catch the building bouquet of scents that are starting to roll into the air.

Remus sniffs a couple times with a shallow frown and cocks his head to the side slightly. “Give me a bit, I think so.”

Sirius sniffs in several short bursts, his canine edges pushing at him a bit more than usual as he tries to open his dormant instincts to devour and divine the smells. The surface of the potion is a pearly almost-pink, simmering like one of Mrs. Potter’s curries but thick with a consistency almost the same as nail varnish. There it is, for certain, the woodsy warmth of roasted chestnuts that Sirius had smelled his first trip to Honeydukes and for which he struck a bone-deep affinity almost immediately. The tang of petrichor is there as well, the earthy layer of carbon decomposition underscoring the sweet smell of wet pines and rich black dirt. There’s something else threading itself through those two scents as Sirius sniffs again, something familiar and warm and arousing if he tastes it at just the right angle but far more comforting than anything else—

“Your tea,” Sirius murmurs to himself, drawing back to look at Remus with wide eyes. “Your cardamom tea, clear as day.”

Remus breaks into a purely unfettered smile, his cheeks dimpling marvellously the way they always do when he forgets to keep his emotions under Lupin-esque lock and key. “You’re joking.”

“Not a whit, dead honest. What do you smell?”

The frame of his nova smile remains as Remus squints faintly at the far corner of the classroom. “It—there’s definitely tobacco in there, the pipes my da used to smoke when I was a kid. And there’s crispness there too…” He sniffs a few times, slow and deep draws and a wash of peace comes over his expression. “It’s the air, right before it snows.”

“Anything else?” Sirius asks, unconsciously white-knuckling the edge of the cauldron for the selfish spur of needing to know if he’s anywhere in Remus’ olfactory memory, anything particularly identifying that would tie them together in this the way Sirius so desperately feels they are. He’s in love, after all, there it is; he loves Remus Lupin with every fiber of—

“Yeah.” Remus lets out a self-conscious little chuckle, wrenching Sirius from his swirling thoughts, and runs a hand up the back of his neck as he always does when he’s embarrassed about something. Oh, Sirius is mad for him. Utterly and completely mad. “There’s, ah, it’s your jacket. I can smell...you, in there, with all the residual cigarettes and the, the leather.”

Sirius doesn’t wait to ask Remus if _he’s_ making up the scent, for he can see it plain in the way his eyes find Sirius’ like lodestones and burn straight to his core with the sweetest fire he’s ever felt. He rounds the desk with hell on his heels and pulls Remus into a kiss so deep he nearly drowns, pours his soul onto Remus’ lips and receives just as much of a reply to the vaulting hallelujah of his heart. They open their mouths to one another again and again, tongues and teeth clashing like delicious harmonic suspensions, until Sirius’ insides threaten to overflow in the form of gibberish or plain tears if he doesn’t put words to what he’s feelings.

Pulling back, Sirius draws two deep beats of breath—the air still tastes of the most perfect combination of solace and charged purpose that he’s ever had—”I love you so dearly, I hope you know that,” his voice hushed and frayed but candid to his marrow, it’s a reckless choice, a foolish choice, but it’s _his,_ damn it all; _Since when has honesty felt this good?_

“I love you more,” Remus says immediately, breathless, his gaze honed and mesmerizing as Sirius’ chest goes hot with bliss; “I love you more than you can ever know or I could ever say.”

_“Come here.”_

They meet again in the middle, grabbing roughly at one another’s arms, clothes, hair, anything to anchor themselves as the surf of ardor drags at them with hungry insistence. Sirius backs Remus up against one of the cleared desks to their left, the flat polished top of it ripe for lying an eager body back across it to be worshipped, but Remus makes a gravelled sound of denial at the back of his throat and pushes back until Sirius is the one with his back pressed up against a heavy purple tapestry.

_“Oh,_ hell’s hounds, Remus—”

“Yeah?” Remus’ voice is a dangerous murmur at Sirius’ ear, his palm gone down to cup the obvious hardness of Sirius’ cock through his jeans. He rolls Sirius’ earlobe between gentle teeth and Sirius feels the floor slide out from under him. “Alright then?”

“You fucking minx,” Sirius manages to hiss. “Suck me off then, I know you’re good for it.”

_“There_ is it,” Remus hums with a heady note of pleasure, pressing one more deep kiss to Sirius’ lips before he goes to his knees and mouths at Sirius through his trousers. Sirius throws his head back against the fusty fabric behind him, eyes shut and rapt to hone in on the resonant perfection of Remus touching him, Remus working at his button fly, Remus teasing him for a few more strokes over his pants before drawing his cock out and lavishing all the right attention on his length. The air swirls with the smell of Remus, the redolent scents of Sirius’ deepest comforts, and he breathes deeply to drink it in as he buries both hands in Remus’ hair and lets himself get lost in the wet haven of Remus’ mouth.

Remus sucks cock like it’s his job, he always has, and something about the passage of such a monumental milestone between them makes his time even more intense. “I love you,” Sirius gasps after several hallowed minutes of being at Remus’ mercy, the words new and fresh and angular in his mouth, when Remus focuses a series of flattened stripes of his tongue along his frenulum. _“Fuck,_ yes, just like that.”

His skin vibrates with an affirmative moan at the back of Remus’ throat and Sirius is thrown bodily against his limit with it, tightens his fingers so Remus feels it too. Remus hold him in one hand at his hilt and hovers his open mouth just over his cockhead but continues pressing and dragging his tongue up and down along its underside, his hand stroking in shallow tandem with his movements. Sirius’ belly sparks with impending arrival and he cries out several mounting gasps into the empty room.

“I’m coming,” he manages to choke out, meets Remus’ stare, can hardly stay standing for the way it punches through him like a ballista. His orgasm swells up from his depths on wide wings that unfurl in a snap, making him gasp on breath that shears in two as he spills deeply into Remus’ waiting mouth. He leans back against the wall behind him, bonelessly grateful for the support, and revels in the long arc of his completion and downward arc as Remus gently finishes with his cock and kisses his hip with finality. He stays kneeling, and Sirius only opens one eye to look down at him when the sound of Remus’ belt buckle jangling open dances into his awareness.

“Give me just one more—just a bit,” Sirius pants. “Still trying to see straight again.”

“Nah,” Remus says roughly, undoing his zipper as he jerks his chin at the thick carpet floor beside him with a motion that Sirius finds all too alluring even in his post-completion haze. “Here, lie down.”

Sirius knows when and when not to obey Remus for optimal enjoyment, and times when he’s rigidly horny is one in which Sirius is in his utmost self-interest to obey immediately. His heart, still beating wildly, thrills to see the impressive hard-on straining at the waistband of Remus’ pants as Sirius lowers himself to the floor. “On my back?”

“Yeah.” Remus straddles him without preamble, with his trousers still half-on and one hand on Sirius’ right shoulder to steady himself. Sirius clenches his back teeth and breathes hard, raking his eyes over the feast that Remus is presenting for him—flushed, hair mussed, worked-up, worked-over. He leans back onto his elbows and watches as Remus frees his cock and begins working it with one practiced hand while the other goes immediately to his mouth.

“You’ve quite the fixation there, love,” Sirius rasps. Remus slides his middle and ring fingers into his mouth as he’d taken Sirius’ finger with the peppermint spot, pumping them in and out of his lips in a mesmerizing half-time rhythm with the hand on his cock, and nods. Sirius watches, bewitched, as Remus works himself off on top of him. They’ve wanked together too many times to count at this point, their preferred mode of sex, and it always strikes Sirius’ pulse hotter than foxfire to see the way Remus lavishes his touch on and across his own body to get himself off. Remus has been partial to putting things in his mouth since they began experimenting together—his fingers, Sirius’ fingers, Sirius’ cock, the hem of his shirt, anything to keep his tongue busy while the rest of him lights up with arousal. It’s one of the most hallowed things Sirius has ever witnessed.

Remus finds his ending like a sudden hairpin turn that takes him by surprise. He gasps sharply around a particularly decadent twist of his wrist, the wounded sound of distilled pleasure that Sirius has heard from him so many times and yet never fails to strike a ringing chord in his guts. Remus’ eyes flutter shut and his breath picks up, hummingbird breaths short and hot through his nose, his eyebrows coming together but his eyes refusing to close as he keeps his stare sharp on Sirius.

“That’s it,” Sirius murmurs, unconsciously licking his lips at how ready Remus looks to spend. “Come for me.”

He tightens a hand on Remus’ flank and that’s all it takes. Remus shouts weakly, tremulous and complete and whole, and shoots several ropes onto Sirius’ chest and stomach. Sirius watches it hungrily, adoring every moment of Remus’ climaxes as though they’re the first. His legs tremble, his back arches, his body is supple and pliant and succumbing for the next several moments to unadulterated bliss. Remus Lupin is everything.

They both end up on their backs, staring up the ceiling, after Sirius’ cleansing charm does its work on both of them and they shuffle their clothes into some semblance of collected. The room still smells of Amortentia, still bubbling away with the flame they both forgot to douse before losing themselves in one another, but the distinct note of sex now accompanies it.

Or perhaps that’s just the potion steeping?

Either way, Sirius hopes flippantly that it will fade before the next term starts. Or maybe not. It could be funny.

“We fucked in a bloody _classroom_ when there’s a perfectly empty dormitory to use,” He finally announces to the ceiling, his forearm draped across his eyes with refractory exhaustion as Remus laughs beside him, free as a bird and still catching his breath.

“Well when would we ever get the chance again? I’m proud of us.” Remus sounds it, with a smug curve to his words that Sirius thinks he should wear more often.

“So you’re glad I was studying then?” Sirius looks sideways at him with a smile that makes his cheeks ache, and Remus fixes him with a doubtful stare for all but a moment before he breaks as well, the mirth breezing out through the creasing corners of his eyes first before his entire body fills with it. It’s like a wave crashing on the shore, scattering the spume of Remus’ contentment across Sirius when he laughs again, deeply, head thrown back and neck bared with several faint traces from Sirius’ lips standing out against it. Remus Lupin is beautiful. He’s everything Sirius could have asked for and then some, a living dream that refuses to fade and has only gotten more vibrant with every passing year spent growing beside Sirius.

He’s glory incarnate, and Sirius can hardly wait to keep uncovering the best pieces of him as their time together marches ever forward.

 

_—fin—_


End file.
